When I say “everything”, I do literally mean all things possible to google. Someone in my office asks what an obscure acronym means, and I’m the first to know. Mostly quiet and serious in the workplace, I can assure you this is a surface thing. Under the calm exterior is an avid googler, googling away at the speed of light and sound. In the process of writing this article, I have already googled four things, which I kept track of by opening multiple tabs in Firefox:

1. Recognizing that I am a Googleholic, I decided to google support groups in my area. Result: One poor Facebook page in Ohio called “Googlers Anonymous” that has only 26 members. These members seem more interested in new Google news than in the treatment of obsessive-compulsive Googling.
2. In choosing the title of this article, I was curious to know if anyone else had already written similar content. Result: No. But someone did hyphenate “Google-holic”, which lead me to my next search…
3. Should “Googling” be capitalized? Result: No. Google and “to google” as a verb joined the Oxford English Dictionary back in 2006, which again, I actually knew, but had to google just to make sure.
4. Googling again, I was lead to its first known usage, in a blogpost by Larry Page in 2006 which ended “…keep googling!”. Subsequently, I edited this info on Wikipedia.

As a former Google employee (where the office was open plan, if you were curious), I feel like I am somewhat justified in my manic obsession to Google things. I know it is the fastest, most efficient resource at my fingertips. I was an avid googler before working there (which is, in fact, how I got a job there, too). As an academic, I also understand that it’s like having the entire web categorized like a library at my doorstep, which I can visit any time of day or night, rain or shine, and regardless of whether or not my books are seriously overdue. To me, Google allows me to cross reference information at high speeds (since I type as fast as I think most of the time), and come up with well-researched information about anything from the best ways to grill toast (for my current job) to finding replacement shoelaces at bargain prices (which my husband needed).

A friend of mine on Facebook who was concluding her PhD at Oxford once posted that she was considering only limiting her internet time to an hour a day, including Facebook and Googling time. I thought she was mad until I realized I’d broken into a bit of a cold sweat over the thought of it. What would I do if I couldn’t Google? The anxiety rose up in my throat as I realized how many things I would just sit and wonder about, or if my teenage years were an indication, how many hours I would have to spend reading the encyclopedias in the library. Yes, if you didn’t know this by now, I am a true geek.

As I conclude this article, I’m resisting the urge to google many more things. I feel like this urge is exactly what makes me so good at what I do since I am updating myself daily on how search works, what’s new in the search world, and what’s new with Google. The point though is to understand that if you have met me or work with me, or are thinking about working with me, this is one of my quirks and one of my strongest selling points: I am a googleholic.

Grand Ave Florals, Los Angeles

Where Angela extols on the 3 Easy Truths About Getting Married

Welcome back to the series of “I Heart…” by me. The original title for this article was “Wedding Bliss Can Kiss My…”, but that sounded a lot harsher than was truly necessary. The truth of the matter is, for an event that is supposed to be so saccharine romantic, there’s a whole lot of blood, sweat and good ol’ fashioned hard work that has to go into it.

Dreaming of getting married? Closing your eyes and visualizing heart-stopping wedding shoes by Jimmy Choo, elegant and embossed invitations, designer wedding bouquets and your beautiful bridesmaids (wearing fugly and unflattering dresses in a gorgeous color) all flocking around you, making you, The Bride, shine? Keep your eyes closed, honey. That’s the fantasy stuff. The reality of getting married (and I should know because this is numero dos) is that it’s a hard sudoku puzzle of matching numbers to squares. Think of the seating plan alone: are you really going to sit your loud and opinionated aunt next to your shy academic uncle? That’s no way to wedding day well-wishes.

The best advice about getting married that I ever received came from my own gut. “Gutspeak” is the stuff that, surprisingly, should be the most simple information your brain ever processes. Yet your brain will argue with it, ignore it, try to bargain with it, and ultimately leave you feeling totally torn as to what on earth “the right decision” is. Allow me to offer clarification on your Gutspeak:

3 Easy Truths About Getting Married

1. Getting married doesn’t mean you have to sprint to the finish. Recognizing now that nothing should change between you and your hubby-to-be post-ceremony puts you wayyy ahead of the game. Everyone has their own reasons for getting married, but thinking things will change between you two afterward is the only wrong one. If your gut is telling you “he’s not the one!”, maybe you should humour it and talk to your future spouse about it. Vocalizing your fears might just help him (or her!) to relate to your issues and apprehensions. On the other hand, it might send things into the downward spiral of whose stuff belong to whom and calling the bakery to cancel the wedding cake. Either way, take it from me, your gut won’t lead you astray so just listen.

2. All bridal stores, without exception, are designed to make you feel fat. Add another axiom to this: All bridal dresses are sized UP, meaning you will be reaching for the double digits, even if you’re a petite like me. And instead of the casual, girly, champagne-sipping event you see in romantic comedies, you can bet your tuckus your own mother will betray you horribly and call from the opposite side of the store, “So, I’m looking for a size <insert double your actual size here>?? They don’t have any that big!” and your bridesmaid will drink too much and try to force you to buy the unflattering meringue gown that costs infinitely more than it should, accompanied by the words, “It sooooo suits you!”.

3. Wedding invitations don’t matter, but registries do. This is a microcosmic two-parter. First, who really cares what an invitation looks like? If you’re shallow enough to fight with your mother or spouse about it, reconsider getting married and check out your local Mental Health Center instead. The important thing is you’re inviting people you care about to witness your marriage. (If that doesn’t make sense, I encourage you to read that last sentence over and over until it does. If it doesn’t make sense, re-read Truth 1.) If your wedding guests or party really care about the paper the invitations are printed on, reconsider inviting them at all. It’s that simple. Secondly, people need to know what to bring. They want to bring something. Wouldn’t you? Don’t force them to buy you a glass bowl that will sit on top of your refrigerator until it deteriorates into sand again. It will break in a few years by your future toddler and you will wonder why you never used such a pretty thing. Think ahead to the stuff you would really want to keep and as frequently as possible, apply the Invitation-Registry rule: The marriage should be what lasts, not the flower arrangements.

For the Woman Already in the Throws of Bridezilla Disease: Have no fear. It’s hard to act like yourself when the world suddenly becomes so devastatingly interested in what you really think about everything, from flowers to footwear to religion (for the ceremony). You won’t be (or shouldn’t be) used to everyone always paying attention to you like that, because that isn’t what being an adult is about. Being mature enough to make major decisions about your life means you listen as well as speak, and are considerate enough of others to wish for everyone’s happiness – not just your own at the cost of others. Now that might sound tough when your emotions start getting the better of you and you start thinking, “But she’s been pushing for me to do that for years! I really want to do it my way now!”. So the solution is even simpler than the Trinity of Truths above. If somebody in your wedding party cares about the invites, or the shoes you’ll be wearing, or the flowers, and you don’t, why not let them take care of it? Save your breath for the stuff you do care about, and fight that battle instead. Not only will it ease the wedding orchestration for yourself, but that person can feel like they are really helping you out and showing you they care about you and the wedding. Win, win. Listen to your gut. You’re not fat. And last, but not least, keep your eyes on the prize and think ahead to post-wedding day bliss.

To see the original publication of this article on Associated Content, please click here.

A "hodad" is a 50's term for surfer groupie

It started, as it has for so many since, with Guy Fieri’s show on The Food Network.  The show, plus the appeal of seeing something on TV one Saturday morning, liking it, and driving 3 hours to go and see it for myself. It also starts with a literal starvation for a decent burger while living in London (a matter not addressed by English restauranteurs until relatively recently).

A good burger shouldn’t be hard to make. I’m not for over-seasoned beef, over-cooked or processed into perfect looking, 12 cm diameter patties. Good bread, good meat, good salad and good ketchup should be all that is required.  And, generally speaking, the number of napkins used to eat a burger with any kind of social etiquette is directly proportional to the excellence of the flavour. My order of 1 hamburger, 1 side of onions and 1 strawberry milkshake took approximately 11 napkins to consume gracefully, scoring Hodad’s an 11 on a normal scale of 1 to 10. Good job, guys!

The inside of the restaurant is laid back and the walls are plastered with license plates from around the country as well as a sign that accurately reads “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem” (hardly any of the men in there had shirts on). I liked it on my first visit because it was sunny outside and there were plenty of surfers who had just popped in for a bite to eat before heading back out to the waves. The second time, the day wasn’t so clear and I noticed that either it was a lot more popular due to reruns of Guy Fieri’s ‘Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives’ and his raving review on the show, or I’d been kind of blind to the neighbourhood the first time. This burger joint is a brilliant novelty stop on your route through SoCal. So by all means, stop by, chow down on their deliciously grotesque looking burgers, and then try something else if you find yourself back in the area.

On my second visit to Hodad’s, there were so many customers the queue went out the building and down the street for the whole block. Although the line moves relatively quickly, Newport Avenue is not the nicest street in San Diego to wait around on: although there are a number of cute souvenir shops, there are also an inordinate number of the homeless (and inebriated, and foul tempered). Nothing of note particularly happened, but as I said, it’s just not the nicest street to hang out on. Instead, I’d suggest passing the whole line and walking straight in to order food to go. They’re pretty quick and you can hop back in your car and head for a quieter beach, or wherever you like.

Hodad’s is located in Ocean Beach and open from 10AM to 10PM alllll summer long.

5010 Newport Ave.
Ocean Beach, CA 92107
View Larger Map

They don’t call being two years old “terrible” without good reason. He’s got good questions about stuff (particularly about the vacuum cleaner), he just doesn’t know how to phrase them. Nor does he have the necessary vocabulary to fully understand an adult’s explanation of the question’s answer. How frustrating, poor guy! And how frustrating to teach him seemingly simple, and yet infinitely complex things like how to take your own t-shirt off, or how to pull your socks off when you haven’t yet developed cognitive memory to push or pull things automatically. (That’s right, that’s the thing that fails you when you push a door clearly marked “Pull”.)

The best thing I’ve found is to turn everything into a game. Won’t get into his pyjamas at bed time? Bring a camera and let him take pictures of the whole process. Won’t keep a “quiet voice” when Daddy is recording in his studio? Take him to the supermarket, point at stuff on the shelves and ask, “Hey, what is this?”. On this occasion, we even made a memory game out of the mayonnaise. He busied himself moving all the jars out of order in the split second I wasn’t looking. So I explained, “No, see, the blue jar lids go with the blue ones, the red with the red.” And hey presto, the shelves were back to displaying normalcy in mere minutes. Phew.

The answer to nearly every item questioned was of course “juice”, his new favorite word following the fad of the word “dip” (as in, “What would you like to eat?” being answered, “I wannnn…DIP!” for breakfast, lunch and dinner), this kid is amazing. And fun. Stay tuned for more tales of being “terrible” at the age of two, and more I Heart (lovely things).